Cat amongst the Pigeons
by Hattie J Huper
Summary: Have Thrush found the answer, will they split up the dynamic team that is Solo and Kuryakin for good.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

They pounded after him, their boots making a clanking racket on the metal gangways. All could see him clearly as he ran past the large shelving units housing large stashs of cocaine. They could all see him but none took a shot. They were in truth having too much fun chasing him down. Soon enough the blond UNCLE agent would be apprehended. The factory was only so big with every exit heavily guarded. There was no escape for this foolish young man.

Sure enough they soon had him surrounded. Ilya tried to make a break for an exit but he stalled at the sight of Thrush agents heading towards him. They formed a tight circle around him. Two senior guards approached and throwing their guns over their shoulders they spun him around and searched him. Once they had relieved him of his gun and communicator they pinned his arms behind him as their leader approached.

"Illya Kuryakin. What were you thinking sir. Did you really think you could take on the might of the whole Thrush empire single handed?"

Illya said nothing. He braced himself and waited. The explosion when it came was an overwhelming rush of fire, debris and powder. It knocked them all to the floor. The factory was suddenly one massive cloud of white smoke as one explosion followed another and another. Solo had been thorough in his work. There was much chaos as a sprinkler system came on and Thrush agents desperately tried to shut it off. They couldn't have that drowning their merchandise. There was much shouting and orders as they tried to pull sacks of the drug away from the flames. Amid the chaos two lone Uncle agents slipped out of the building and ran down to the deserted beach to a waiting row boat. Soon they were being pulled into a larger boat out at sea, their mission a complete success.

~o~

He slammed his fist on the table making everyone jump.

"10,000 dollars worth of cocaine gone. Gone up in smoke. They work in pairs how did you not know that. Kuryakin always works with Solo and between them they have destroyed over a million dollars worth of Thrush enterprise. No more, no more,"

He looked around expectantly waiting for a suggestion from one of the others seated at the large oval table. They looked at each other willing someone else to speak.

"We could poison them, we could send something in a package that will put an end to them once and for all,"

The head of Thrush glared down at the little Asian man who dared make such an infantile suggestion.

The door at the end of the room opened quietly and Manfred Crow swaggered in. He took a seat at the end of the room. All eyes turned expectantly to him.

"It's simple," he began, "we split them up."

The head of Thrush eyed his newest consultant with some doubt.

"Split them up?"

Crow took a languid drag from his cigarette.

"Kuryakin and Solo work very well together, how effective would they be if they no longer had each other to depend on. We need to split them up."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "The age old way, a girl. We organise a girl for them to fight over. Nothing could be simpler."

The head of Thrush ran a hand through his dark hair. He creased up his face as he thought it out.

"We have a dossier on Mr Solo. We managed to apprehend him last year and with medication we learnt a good deal about him."

Manfred Crow nodded, "we just need to find him a compatible match. Choose the right girl and we could divide and conquer, put an end to this annoying dream team once and for all."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The head of Thrush perused the slides with an indulgent smile. She was vivacious and beautiful. If he were a younger man...no, he would anyway. In fact once they were done with her he might prevail upon her to provide more personal services.

The black and white slides showed off a sprightly happy young girl, a lover of tennis and golf. At home on a boat and enjoying time at a popular classy restaurant. She seemed to dress for the part no matter what she was doing.

"Enchanting, wherever did you find her?" He asked.

Manfred Crow inhaled a waft of cool menthol smoke, the slim cigarette elegant in his long fingers.

"She is a high class hooker, she has no past, has never worked a decent job in her life so she has no social security number. Thankfully she has no convictions either so there will be no problem creating a new life for her. We have already set her up in a record store close to the scam scene. She bought it using funds left her by her poor deceased uncle. It's all in place."

"A record store, that won't impress Mr Solo. He's a man of refinement."

"She plays the cello for a local orchestra. She wants to play for the Royal Philharmonic orchestra eventually. She's young yet, she may get there."

The head of Thrush nodded his approval at the elaborate ruse they had created.

"Yes she is exquisite, I can't say I'm happy about her former profession though. That could bring problems."

"She has had a full medical which has shown her to be completely healthy. She has nothing that could give her away. Just to make sure, she has undergone a procedure to give her back, that which she has lost."

"Yes well we don't need to know those details. I suppose she would need to come from those tracks in order for us to create a new life for her."

"Also, we needed someone versed in the art of seduction." Manfred Crow was quick to point out.

"Yes but not too much seduction, Mr Solo has an aversion to fast women. He likes to do the chasing."

"Yes of course but don't forget, she also has to seduce Mr Kuryakin. We're killing two birds here."

The Head of Thrush smiled. "Yes, by all accounts he's a little more innocent than his racy counterpart. She should have no trouble there. How is it to be worked."

Crow nodded to a pretty young secretary and she brought over a large bulky file.

"We've set up a temporary arrangement in a popular strip in London, there's no way UNCLE will ignore it. They'll think themselves very clever and send their best out to investigate."

"What makes you think they'll send out our boys?" The Head of Thrush asked as he perused the large file.

"Yes, we don't know that for sure but this is a nightclub in Soho, they tend to like sending Kuryakin on such missions, he's young looking. And of course where he goes Solo is sure to follow. It's all been taken care of."

"Yes it sounds that way. Take your time with this one Mr Crow. I want this done to perfection. At the very least it could serve as an innate embarrassment to all at Uncle Headquarters. That can't be bad." The Head of Thrush smiled to himself.

"It'll be more than that sir. We plan to eradicate Solo and Kuryakin once and for all. We may even organise for one of them to kill the other. Good luck covering up a crime of passion. Uncle would never live it down."

"Make it so Mr Crow, I look forward to your progress reports."

~o~

Rain pelted on the windscreen, completely obstructing his vision. Solo strained to see the entrance through the torrents of sheeting rain. The din inside could be heard all across the street, the hum of live music. Solo smiled to himself. Illya will be stone deaf tomorrow. His eyes narrowed. He watched her for a moment struggle, the umbrella refused to oblige. She was getting soaked. He watched for another couple of minutes. Finally she'd had enough and threw the umbrella down in frustration. She smiled with embarrassment as he approached. He immediately took his jacket off and put it around her slender shoulders.

"Oh thank you, but you're getting wet," she smiled up at him.

"Yes I think we should retreat to the relative safety of my car," Solo smiled. "Before we're washed away in this,"

She hesitated and fixed him with a look of girlish innocence.

"It's ok, ill keep my hands in my pockets at all times." He smiled, "you have nothing to fear fair maiden."

"I'm going to leave a wet mark in your car," she worried as they settled in to wait for the rain to stop.

"Don't worry, my friend will be sitting there," Napoleon smiled. "Unfortunately I cannot bring you home, I'm waiting for someone but I'll flag down the next available cab,"

"I'm sorry to put you to such trouble," she fixed Dow eyes on him looking truly beautiful. She had a baby face with bow lips and cute dimples when she smiled. She had large eyes like a doll and her honey blond hair framed her face. She was adorable and it wasn't lost on Solo.

"Indeed you have put me to some trouble. But I may forgive the outrage if you were to have dinner with me tomorrow night."

She smiled endearingly. "Do you always ask total strangers to dine with you."

"When they look like you I feel I have little choice."

She reached into her hand bag "Oh, I don't have a pen,"

He took a ball point from his top pocket and handed it to her. Quickly she scribbled her phone number and name on a scrap of paper and handed it to him.

He took a look. "Emma Cohen,"

"I know, such a name," she smiled.

Before he could answer she spotted a cab and scrambled out. Solo got out also and gave a loud whistle. The cab turned slowly in the rain soaked street and drove up slow towards them. Solo fished a note from his wallet.

"Take the young lady where she wants to go." He told the crusty old cab driver.

"I can't have you pay my fair," she complained.

"You're getting wet," Solo told her as he held the back door open for her.

She never took her eyes off him as she got in. He closed the door gently and signalled the driver he could go.

He stood there in the rain for long minutes until a shout from across the street brought him to his senses.

Illya got into the passenger seat immediately grumbling.

"What were you doing, this seat is all wet. Have you had a dog in here?"

"Not quite," Napoleon smiled to himself.

"You're looking very pleased with yourself?"

"Yes Illya, I am."

That's all his friend was going to get. Napoleon started the engine and pulled out into the traffic without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Napoleon was actually nervous. He felt like a school boy again. Usually he was in control, confident in his shoes but this was something else, he very much wanted her to like him. His hands felt clammy on the steering wheel as he drove towards her house. It was a nice old house in a quiet estate, the houses were mostly owned by old and retired couples. Emma told him she lived there with her widowed father but she planned on getting her own place soon.

She met him at the door, looking almost as flustered as he felt.

"I'm sorry, I'm running late." She apologised "I just got back from work. Please come in."

He was led into a front room and she had him sit while she got herself together.

The room smelt musty, it comprised of old antic furniture and real wood cabinets filled with dainty silver ornaments. Napoleon got up and peered into one of the cabinets.

"I got that in Peru, that silver jug and tray," the old man pointed with his pipe as he entered the room.

"Do you see that silver shoot there," he began opening the cabinet. "It contains a tiny scroll believed to be an ancient prayer." Carefully the old man took it out and began to pop out the tiny parchment of paper. "It was originally owned by a family from Tibet, or so I'm told."

"You must be well traveled sir," Napoleon surmised.

"Royal Navy, both wars. My medals and decorations are upstairs if you care to see them,"

Emma smiled as she entered "Next time Papa, we'll miss our dinner reservation."

She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Of course, you run along now." The old man smiled as if they were children.

"It's a pleasure to meet you sir," Napoleon shook his hand.

'The old man nodded "well, well get along with you."

Emma smiled up at him as they walked to his car. "I think he likes you."

The old man watched them as they drove off. Then tapping lightly on his pipe, he pulled out a tiny antenna.

"Code 6, scramble message please, The bate is in the trap, all is well." He spoke clearly into the pipe communicator.

"Message understood, keep us posted on further developments."

The old man fixed dark eyes on the children playing out on the street. He would be glad to be free of this depressing old house but he had to admit, this mission was easy money.

~o~

Napoleon's nerves soon fell away. She was so easy to talk to. Well she did most of the talking. She spoke on everything from the state of the nation to the antics of her pet dog but it was all charming and funny. He could listen to her all day. They talked about everything and anything for hours. He found himself telling her all about his home life, how difficult he found it to make time for his mother and how lonely she became after his father died. He even found himself telling her of his estranged brother and how he wished so much that he'd get his life in order. She listened to all he said with compassion. He hadn't planned on sharing so much but she listened, really listened.

Waiters came and went, bothering them the odd time with offers of more wine, more water, dessert menu. The place filled up and became empty again, still they talked. Finally as shutters were coming down, it was time to leave. Napoleon got up and put her coat around her shoulders.

"Let's not go back just yet, it's a nice night for a walk." She smiled up at him.

It was as if she had read his mind. With a contented smile he took her arm and they strolled the sidewalk nearest the beach. They could hear the waves crashing on the serf as they strolled along.

"Let's go down there, come on." She urged, pulling on his arm like an enthusiastic child.

The sun was just going down casting red and purple hues on the horizon. The beach was near deserted save for joggers and people out with their dogs. The couple walked hand in hand in comfortable silence as if they had known each other for years.

"Napoleon," she turned slowly to face him, reaching up and resting her hands on his shoulders.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, lightly at first. His lips barely touching her sweet mouth but as she raised her eyes to gaze up at him his urge for her became too much. He took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly. When he finally came up for air she was breathless.

She wanted him... she wanted him to take her right there on the beech. She wanted him to be rough, throw her down on the sand...

She stepped back.

"You'd best take me home," she smiled, doing her best with a look of girlish shyness.

Napoleon reached up and wiped his lips with a slight flush of embarrassment.

"Of course," he smiled. "Come on, I'll buy you some candy to take home."

"You don't have to do that." She smiled as he took her hand.

"Maybe I want to."

They kissed again before she went in. She closed her eyes and drank in his masculine scent as his lips converged on hers. She found it hard to break free but this time she did so first.

"I must go in Papa will be worried."

Napoleon smiled. "Friday, what about Friday. I know this little out of the way place."

"Sounds perfect," She couldn't help herself. She leaned in and kissed him again, running fingers through his fine hair.

"Look forward to it," she smiled.

~o~

Once indoors she headed to the kitchen. The old man was gone home. Off duty two hours ago. She reached into her bag and fished out the compact mirror.

"Code 6, scramble message please." She tapped lightly on the counter top with her nails as she waited.

"Report,"

" All went well. Next meeting scheduled for Friday."

Manfred Crow frowned as he took this in. "Had he any suspicions?"

"None that I could see, he seemed perfectly happy. Talked of family life and personal stuff. No I think he's suitably smitten."

"Physical contact?"

"Just kissing."

"Fine, we'll talk soon..."

"Wait, when do I get my first instalment. I will need new clothes for this venture you know. I should be getting a running tab for this."

"He's not going Dutch on you is he?" Manfred smiled to himself.

"No he paid the bill but regardless, you promised that I would be paid my first instalment after the initial hook up."

"You will be paid handsomely in due course. Now get off this line before it is traced. We will pick you up tomorrow. We will want to know exactly what he was talking about all night."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Guilt crowded in on her like a heavy shroud. She poured herself a cup of coffee and let the bitter liquid run down her throat as she tried to clear her head. She had waited just over a month, that had to be a new record for her. His apartment was beautiful and tasteful and everything she'd expect from him. What she wasn't expecting was his attitude.

Fly me to the Moon played in the background as they got comfortable on his couch. The lights were dimmed, they had just enjoyed a meal he had cooked from scratch. She wanted to sniff at all of it but actually she was a little bit blown away. Although she was enjoying every moment of his ministrations, the way he undid her blouse, kissing and nibbling at her neck as he worked, she had to stay in character. She had to stop him.

"I should probably tell you. I haven't done this before," she stammered looking up at him.

For a moment he froze in his actions. She expected anger as in her real first time. Instead he gazed at her with tender concern in his eyes.

"Is it ok though... I will be gentle?" He asked.

And he was gentle, and tender. As practiced as Emma actually was she wouldn't have minded if he powered into her. She found him quite attractive and although she wouldn't admit it she looked forward to bedding him. Despite the unanticipated gentleness of his love making, she was so caught up in it. His consideration and careful manner wasn't lost on her, it made her feel special. Probably a good thing he was gentle too . The surgeons were thorough in their work, she really was a Virgin again.

She lay awake that night. She had to focus. She was going to earn at least 5.000 dollars and that would be enough. She could finally leave this life behind. Yeah he was good in bed, so what. Let him save it for his pristine pure wife whenever she comes along. She wasn't in this business to make friends. She had screwed him and now she would screw his friend and be gone.

~o~

Last night was definitely interesting. Napoleon smiled away to himself. It was worth the wait. Sure she was inexperienced actually she had never done it but she was even more beautiful in the flesh than he had imagined. He hoped he had pleased her. It was a new experience for him. He had bedded many women in his time but truth be told he was more interested in his own needs than that of the ladies. Emma was different. She was special. He'd ring her later. He'd ring her, make sure she was ok. He hoped he hadn't scared her.

~o~

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you."

"Hum?" Napoleon turned to Illya.

"I was just surmising that we have been on this case a whole three weeks now and we haven't been able to ascertain why THRUSH have set up these string of night clubs. I can find no discernible reason can you."

Again Napoleon was gazing out the car window staring into space.

"These surveillance trips with you really are fun. I feel sleepy enough at 4 in the morning without having to talk to myself."

"Sorry." Napoleon muttered.

"So who is the lucky lady?" Illya asked, as he unscrewed the cap on his flask of coffee.

"You don't know her,"

"Has she been checked out yet?" Illya asked matter of factly.

When there was silence Illya forgot his coffee and looked directly at his friend.

"You haven't told them yet, have you...Napoleon!'

"It's so invasive. She's a nice girl Illya, She lives with her father."

Illya frowned. "Mr Waverley will not be pleased."

"I'll invite him to the wedding."

"Wedding, this is serious." Illya smiled. "Does the poor girl know what she's letting herself in for."

"Make all the jokes you want, it'll come to you some day too my friend."

"Not me, I'm on an official site seeing tour only."

"That's what I said, trust me Illya, your day will come." Napoleon smiled fondly at his friend.

"I don't think I like this new you, all happy and smitten. I'm starting to miss the old grouch."

~o~

She once again found herself in the great room surrounded by men in sharp tailored suits. They all waited anxiously for her report, it was thrilling. She had been with Solo two months now and was starting to feel right at home at Thrush Headquarters.

"Well my dear," the head of Thrush Central Command began. "You've been seeing Mr Solo for some time now."

"Yes sir." She smiled.

"How would you say it's progressing. Does he completely trust you?"

"I would say absolutely sir. He's beginning to talk about children."

There were sniggers from all assembled at that.

"Yes quite," the head of Thrush smiled.

Manfred Crow stepped forward. He felt he had to say something lest they all forget it was originally his idea.

"I feel we should begin the next phase of the project sir. She has been intimate with Mr Solo, I feel it's time she met with Mr Kuryakin,"

"All in good time Mr Crow. As I stated before I want you to take your time with this one. The more smitten he is the more impact this will have when it goes south. We'll let them play through for now, there's no rush. If our sources are correct there's no other girls on the scene. He is in fact going steady with Miss Emma."

Manfred had stepped in front of her as he spoke. Emma was keen to show that she was an operator on her own and didn't need him pulling her strings.

"By the way," she blurted out quickly. "Mr Solo and Mr Kuryakin are still investigating those nightclubs you set up. They are tracking who comes in and who leaves. They think it's a front for laundering money."

All in the room seemed to round on her at once. Questions were flying from every direction. She smiled as she tried to quiet them all down and answer each one in turn.

The head of Thrush got up from his seat and stepped forward.

"How do you know that," he asked, his face growing dark.

"I slipped something into his drink," she smiled with a cheeky grin.

The head of Thrush turned slowly to Manfred.

"Mr Crow, she is your responsibility,"

"Yes sir, I'm sorry sir,"

Emma had wanted to tell them so much more, she looked from one to the other as the men began talking over her head.

"I trust you will know how to act Mr Crow,"

"Yes sir, I will carry it out directly," Manfred Crow assured him.

Emma looked with wide eyes at each of them in turn. She suddenly realised too late that taking the initiative was possibly not the best idea.

She was silent for the rest of the session. As the other agents filed out Manfred caught hold of her wrist.

"You are in future to do as we tell you and just as we tell you. Do not dare to bring your own ideas to this. Do you understand," he said smoothly.

She nodded, noting the dangerous look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry but I will have to make sure you understand completely."

Still with a tight hold on her wrist he brought her with him down many corridors and down several flights of stairs. She whimpered as she was pulled along unable to break free of his grip. Finally they came to a large steel door. The heavy door was pulled back and they were led into a reception area.

"I need to see Dr Hyland." He told the pretty receptionist. She nodded fixing Emma with a sympathetic smile.

A smiling middle aged man appeared from out of another heavy steel door.

"She over stepped the mark, she acted without permission. It's nothing serious but we will need a standard punishment."

The Doctor smiled down at her "Don't look so frightened young lady, it'll be over before you know it."

Manfred was quick to add, "it's vitally important that you don't leave any marks."

The good doctor nodded with a smile. "We never do."

~o~

Mr Waverley was delivering his briefing to Mr Kuryakin when Solo bustled in straightening his tie and smoothing his hair into place.

"How nice of you to join us Mr Solo. I may call off the search party."

Illya fixed him with a smug smile as he came to stand beside him.

"I'm sorry sir, I over slept."

Waverley nodded, "Well it's hardly surprising, you and Mr Kuryakin have been putting in a lot of night detail lately. Be sure to take some Vitamin C, we don't want you falling sick too."

"Yes sir,"

"Now Mr Kuryakin has your orders, I'm not going to go through it again. Off you go and I'll expect a full report."

They were just about to head for the lift when Napoleon did a detour.

"I'll meet you downstairs," he told Illya as he headed for the restroom.

"Well hurry up, I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Neither have I and I have a pounding headache," Napoleon told him. "Warm up the car, ill be there in a minute,"

He headed into the restroom and minutes later he emerged straightening his tie. He was about to head for the lift across the hall with sirens suddenly went off. The doors began to close all around him and warning lights flickered on the walls.

For a moment he was unsure what just happened, Uncle agents surrounded him brandishing their weapons. Napoleon knew the drill and immediately put his hands above his head. He was turned towards the wall and immediately searched.

Mr Waverley suddenly appeared on the scene.

"What's happened," he asked.

A medic was quick to answer "Sir, we will need to examine further the evidence but it seems Mr Solo has tested positive for a banned substance."

Mr Waverley went to him. "You can put your hands down now Mr Solo."

"Sir, I don't know what to say,"

"Best to say nothing Mr Solo. If you would be so good as to follow the medical team to the infirmary I'm sure we can get this mess straightened out. On the face of it I'd say you have been compromised. Thrush are using unusual methods to extract information these days. We will need a full briefing on your movements in the last 24 hours."

"Yes sir," Napoleon frowned.

Immediately he was surrounded and escorted down the corridor towards the medical centre.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Five hours later he was released. Not before a full physical, blood and urine samples and a full interrogation, Napoleon was exhausted.

He was told to go home and await the results of the extensive tests. They did not want him out on the field until they could be sure he was not compromised with drugs that alter the mind.

Napoleon was not happy. He saw the look on Waverley's face, the old man knew he was lying. He saw traces of disappointment there.

As he left the medical facility he was surprised to find Illya in the car park waiting for him.

"I thought maybe you'd want a lift home," Illya said.

Napoleon knew him well enough.

"And the rest, out with it Illya," he said.

Illya shifted uncomfortably as he thought out how he wanted to word it.

"You know what I'm going to say Napoleon. You told them you were at a club last night, you were not. You were with her."

"What's your point," Napoleon looked directly at him.

"My point is, she was the one who administered the drug, who else could have."

"IIlya, I'm very tired, I need this like a hole in the head,"

"Napoleon you need to listen, she could be using you, she could be a spy,"

Illya found himself thrown up against a solid wall. His head bounced painfully on the concrete behind him. Napoleon had him pinned by the lapels of his jacket, for a moment his temper completely getting the better of him.

"Are you going to hit me Napoleon?" Illya asked, a little shaken.

"Stay away from me for now Illya, please. I need to sort through this myself." He released him, straightening his jacket as he did.

"I'm sorry, just stay away from me." Napoleon headed for his own car.

Illya stared after him, his mind reeling. The only common denominator was this girl but Napoleon couldn't see it...or refused to believe it. Illya frowned to himself. He weighed up the choices he had and didn't like any one of them. Practically all of them involved loosing his best friend.

~o~

On the face of it life looked normal between the two agents, they worked together as ever. After much consideration Illya decided to give Napoleons new love the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps Napoleon was right, he had pulled into a gas station on the way home, he could have met with a Thrush agent there. It had happened before. All at Uncle were satisfied that there had not been a huge breech in security, just one lone Thrush agent trying his luck.

That being said Napoleon found himself under the sudden scrutiny of Mr Waverley who, if he didn't know better seemed to be picking on him. The old man seemed in general to be out of spirits and paid special attention if Napoleon was late with a report or had missed out on a small detail.

"I think he's getting senile," Napoleon commented as they drove home for the evening.

"Napoleon, that is unkind," Illya muttered.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just tired," Napoleon rubbed at his left eye as he slowed into heavy traffic.

"You need an early night, she's keeping you up late."

"I know," Napoleon smiled wickedly.

A sudden thought came to him.

"You haven't met her yet Illya, come with us tonight. She won't mind. I told her about you,"

"I don't want to play gooseberry. No Napoleon, that would be awkward."

"Don't be an idiot. We're past all that cuddling every minute stage, come on. It'll be fun. When's the last time you were out to dinner?"

~o~

She was charming and vivacious, and very attentive to Napoleon. Despite everything Ilya found himself warming to her. She made his friend very happy. He had seldom seen him this contented. Napoleon was never really relaxed on missions, well that was understandable but with Emma, he seemed completely at home. They laughed at the same things and seemed so easy in each other's company. Illya would have found himself feeling a little envious, if it weren't for the fact that they graciously made sure he had a good time with them.

He soon found himself out at all hours of the night with the pair. Emma knew all the best nightclubs, the ones that housed the best live bands.

Some time in the early hours of a morning they found themselves in one such club. A barely clad dancer took a shine to Illya and danced just for him. As much as he had to drink he couldn't take his eyes off her slender hips and ample curvaceous figure.

Emma smiled drunkenly "we need to find you a girl," she told him.

"What's the good in a chocolate chip when you can have the whole cake," he drawled.

She moved closer to him, "what are you talking about?"

He shook his head smiling a boyish smile at her. "I don't know."

"You have a lovely smile," she was suddenly serious.

"Thank you."

"I can't understand why you're not with someone."

A young Puerto Rican boy was playing a unique version of "light my fire," on stage, the lights were dim and she was incredibly beautiful. Illya subtly began moving back away from her.

"No, don't please. Don't Illya," she fixed him with a look of complete vulnerability.

"Please," she whispered as her lips converged on his in a hunger fuelled kiss. Lost for a moment in the music and the intoxicating atmosphere he kissed her back but he cut it short abruptly putting her at arms length.

He fixed her with a look a mixture of guilt and shock.

"Don't look like that, I..." she didn't finish as Napoleon appeared carrying the drinks.

"You can get the next round in boy, I ain't battling that unruly crowd of hippies again," he smiled down at Illya as he took his seat. His arm automatically went around Emma's shoulders.

Illya was in shock. Emma fixed him with a matter of fact smile he didn't much like.

He got up. "I think I'll head off Napoleon."

"Illya, I just got you a drink." Napoleon said.

"I know, I'm sorry. I...probably had too much, it's gone to my head. I'll see you tomorrow."

Illya left the night club feeling better for the fresh air. He needed to get out, to get away from her. Even as he was leaving she had on that smile of control. She held not a trace of the remorse he was now feeling. Napoleon was only recently talking about marriage. Illya winced as a severe headache began to kick in.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She threw an arm over her face. Her head was pounding but she had more to worry her than that. She was supposed to lure Illya Kuryakin to her bed. Instead she had a drunken fumble with him and he wasn't in the game at all. It was a disaster. She sat up in bed throwing her fine sheet of blond curls back from her face. It was a disaster. What would Thrush do. They had paid her half already. Would she be punished. The last punishment was something she never wanted to experience again. Forced to lie down on a clinic like table they strapped her down and attached probes to her head. Then the visions...she was in a chamber like a dungeon. She shook with fear as she was secured with chains to a damp foul smelling wall. Then she was whipped. She could feel every lash like bolts of electricity running through her body. She could still hear the awful sound as leather hit skin. By the twentieth lash she thought she would pass out. It was overwhelming. After thirty lashes she was talked down into a nicer, calmer environment and then finally the probes were removed. She expected that she wouldn't be able to move, that they'd need to call an ambulance for her but there were no scars whatsoever left by the terrible punishment. Once she was sitting up the "Doctor" smiled offering her a cup of coffee. She shook her head instead asking for a cab to take her home. The Doctor immediately obliged. She walked in her front door and immediately collapsed crying hysterically.

Everything changed after that day. She suddenly knew the type of people she was dealing with. She had gotten into this hoping the earnings it would generate would help her start again somewhere else. Now she feared for her very life.

She tried to focus her thoughts. She would say nothing to Thrush, she finally decided. She would follow through with the plan. She had drugs in her apartment, sedatives. The next time they met she would simply slip something into his drink. Desperation crowded in on her and she got up and paced the floor in nervous agitation wringing her hands. That was it, she would drug him. It wouldn't do any harm just make him a little more susceptible to her will.

It would all be done on the quiet. Thrush would never know.

~o~

She was knocked to the floor with the force of the slap. Manfred Crow stood over her his nostrils flaring with unguarded temper.

After a moment the head of Thrush signalled one of his orderlies to pick her up.

"Fool, that will leave a mark," he snapped.

Manfred rounded on him. "Get a slut to do a woman's work. Our man said she was all over the Russian, right there in a night club for everyone to see. You were supposed to take him to your bed not have a school girl romp with him."

Emma ignored him and turned instead to the head of Thrush.

"It can still be done, I have opened the door. I can assure you he will walk through. I can lure him to my bed. Just give me time, he'll beg for it."

The head man frowned taking her in, in one all consuming glance.

"You have left quite a mark on her cheek," he told Manfred "that'll form a nasty bruise by the end of the day, I wonder..."

Manfred put his drink down on the glass table and stepped forward. "What are you thinking?" He asked.

"I don't know yet, perhaps we could use your stupid act to some good," he told Manfred.

Then turning to Emma, "how is your acting skills my dear?" He asked.

~o~

Neither man spoke as they headed down a side ally towards the basement stairs of the nightclub. Waverley had given them a right dressing down that morning as if they were two school boys late for choir practice.

Illya determined he would not be going out with Napoleon and Emma again. His head was pounding and it was yet early. He had a whole day's work to get through. Besides that he had the added complication of that kiss. For the life of him he couldn't remember who instigated that.

Napoleon was equally silent. After Illya left Emma seemed strangely quiet, she seemed out of spirits. Was she tiring of him, or was this just a hangover making him see everything negative. He couldn't remember life before Emma. What did he think about all day. What did he look forward to. Her presence in his life warmed his every waking thought. Just now he was saving for a ring, not just any ring it had to be beautiful like her. He saw it in the window of Tiffany's. It was an awful price but he couldn't wait to see her face. Just two more instalments...

Napoleon tried to concentrate. They had found a broken window under Thrush's fine new nightclub and it led to a basement. A long shot, but perhaps they could uncover some documents which would explain why Thrush was setting up nightclubs in the area. Napoleon sighed to himself, it didn't help matters that they were engaged in one of the most boring missions on the Uncle calendar.

Before long they had left the cool breeze and pleasant sunshine behind in favour of a musty damp cellar. Strangely, for a Thrush compound it wasn't very well guarded.

"Perhaps it's just for money," Illya said as he waded through another box of invoices. He was sitting on a crate, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled to just above the elbows.

"I don't know, all I'm finding here is receipts for beer and potatoe chips and those little umbrellas you put in cocktails," Napoleon agreed.

"A safe, we need to find a safe. It was foolish to think we'd ever find something down here. Thrush don't store their valuable documents in a basement."

Napoleon wasn't listening.

Illya looked over at him. "Why are you smiling?" He asked.

"I'm just remembering, I met Emma, just outside of here. Just that pavement out there. She was struggling with her Umbrella, getting soaked."

Silence hung in the air between them.

After a moment Napoleon looked over at the Russian.

"What is it?" He asked.

Illya's boyish features took on a troubled haunted expression.

"Napoleon..."

"Come on, out with it Illya. You look like you've something on your mind."

"Napoleon...I ..."

A sudden movement upstairs froze them in their tracks. Napoleons bright eyes found Illya in the dark and then turned expectantly to the only door.

Footsteps on the stairs. Both agents scrambled into position. Illya behind the door, Napoleon behind a set of crates ready to fire.

The door opened, someone entered and Illya attacked. He was ready to inflict a blow to the back of the head but quickly changed plan cupping a hand over her mouth.

The small waitress stood rigid and shaking in his grasp. Napoleon came from his hiding place and quickly closed the door.

As terrified as she was she didn't struggle as Napoleon took something from his pocket and rolled up her left sleeve.

"This won't hurt much my dear, you'll just feel a little pinch." He told her as he prepared her arm for the tiny injection.

She looked on with frightened eyes as Napoleon administered the sedative, seconds later she collapsed, Illya taking her full weight. Illya carried her to a corner of the basement laying her down gently while Napoleon gathered up the documents and set them back in their boxes.

"I think we should call it a day here, this is throwing up exactly nothing. You're right Illya, we need to find that safe."

~o~

That night Napoleon drove straight to Emma's place. She now had a comfortable new apartment not far from the record shop she worked in. Napoleon had helped finance it. She hadn't asked him to help but he wasn't having his future wife bus half way across town at that hour every morning. A lot of weirdo's hang around at that hour.

Her new place was modern and beautiful. It had all the most modern conveniences built in, even a fridge freezer. His own place didn't even have one of those, he smiled to himself.

He lost his smile though as he entered her apartment.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately.

Her usually immaculately groomed hair was loose about her face and she seemed to be avoiding his searching gaze.

"What is it, are you ill?" He asked, trying to make eye contact.

"No, you're going to find out anyway," she plonked down on the couch and pulled back her hair revealing the coloured bruise on her cheek.

Napoleon's eyes grey wide. "Who did that to you," he asked quietly, a thunderstorm of emotion growing inside of him.

"It was my father ok? My father did it. Can we just drop it now. You know what fathers can be like Napoleon." She fixed him with a pleading look.

He took his place beside her on the couch and ran a shaky thumb over her bruised face. She winced and he pulled his hand back.

"No. I need to talk to him. Emma I don't care if he is your father he can't do that, he can't get away with it." Napoleon's temper rose as he spoke.

"Shh...Napoleon," she ran a finger over his lips to quiet him.

"Napoleon please. I love you, just leave it." She pleaded.

Napoleon suddenly felt the earth begin to sway beneath him.

"It wasn't your father was it. Who did it Emma. Who did this to you." He asked.

"Napoleon I can't, please don't ask me. Napoleon..."

"Who was it," Napoleon took hold and shook her. "Tell me,"

"Illya," she cried. "It was Illya,"

For a moment it was as if time stood still. Napoleon got unsteadily to his feet. He stared down at her.

"How could..." he couldn't form the words.

"Napoleon, he didn't mean to, he had too much to drink. When you went to get the drinks last night he, he came closer, he began playing with my hair. Before I knew it he was kissing me. Oh Napoleon, it was my fault. I tried to stop him, I was angry with him. When I told him he was being disloyal to you he, he lashed out. It was just out of impulse Napoleon. He didn't mean to."

Napoleon still stared dumbly at her. He couldn't speak. He was in shock.

She took his hand drawing him back down to the couch.

"I didn't want to tell you, I never wanted you to find out. Last night I hid the evidence as best I could. He's your best friend Napoleon. It was just a miss step I'm sure."

"I don't know what to say, I have to...I have to think." Napoleon said, his voice betraying his emotion.

She stood and led him to the door.

"Please Napoleon, don't do anything stupid. He was your best friend long before you met me. Please Napoleon..."

Napoleon couldn't answer. He headed out into the night looking completely shattered.

After he left Emma placed a call on a secure line.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she spoke.

"All is well," she told them "the cat is amongst the pigeons,"

The phone went dead on the other end. She smiled to herself imagining the Head of Thrush being told the news. She imagined a little warm smile on the face of that aloof and powerful man. He'd want to keep her on to work by his side, an intelligent woman, a rare breed. Together they would build Thrush into the most powerful organisation in the world. Strike terror into the hearts of their enemies. She smiled to herself as this scene played out in her head.

He drove for hours in a daze, nearly got in an accident.

How could he...he couldn't, not Illya. But then that would mean Emma was lying.

An image flashed in Napoleon's mind of Illya that morning in the basement. That haunted expression, he had wanted to tell Napoleon something. He had wanted...to confess. Napoleon drove to the hard shoulder and turned off the engine. Alone on the deserted highway he leaned his head on the steering wheel and he cried.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"You're late," Illya told him matter of factly as Napoleon entered the ready room. The Russian had been sifting through files pertaining to their latest case. Just generally keeping busy until Napoleon turned up.

He stopped in his task as his shrewd eyes took in Napoleon's scruffy appearance. His shirt was rumpled and he hadn't shaved yet.

"Are you alright Napoleon," Illya asked with some trepidation.

Napoleon didn't answer. He noted that same look of guilt on the young Russian's face.

"What were you going to tell me in the basement yesterday." He asked.

"What are you talking about?" Illya muttered. His eyes returned to the files in front of him.

"I asked you a question." Napoleon said as he came to stand inches from Illya.

"Napoleon, we should get going." Illya picked up the thick set of files from the desk intending to put them back on their shelf. Napoleon knocked the books from his hands.

Illya jumped slightly and took an unconscious step backwards.

"Whats wrong with you?" he asked, searching Napoleons face for signs of the warmth he normally associated with his friend. But the coldness there sent a sudden shiver of fear up Illya's spine and he reached up and removed his glasses.

"Did you touch Emma?"

For a moment Illya couldn't answer...

"Napoleon, I don't know how it happened, we kissed...,"

It was all he could get out before a vicious punch sent him sprawling back against the door. The copper handle met painfully with the back of his head.

He was slowly getting back up when a second punch sent him skidding over a table and he landed on the floor behind it.

Napoleon threw the table aside and stood over him.

Illya put a hand up in surrender, as with the other hand he tried to staunch the flow of blood trickling from his lip.

"You stay away from me," Napoleon said. "You touch Emma again and I'll break your face,"

Napoleon was just leaving as Mat Roach entered. He stared in shock at the scene, Napoleon, red faced and unshaven, his partner on the floor in a worse state. Mat stared after him as Napoleon left the room and then he went to help the Russian up.

"What the hell happened here," he asked, handing the Russian a handkerchief from his top pocket.

Mat brought him to a chair to sit.

"Thank you," Illya said quietly.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes it was nothing. Please don't mention it to anyone." Illya said as he held the napkin to his face.

"But your hands are shaking,"

"Mat please," Illya cried desperately. " it was a personal matter between us. It's over now, say nothing about it to anyone,"

Mat looked at Illya for a long moment, he was shorter in stature than his partner and not quite as well built. Was he intimidated by him?.

"You'd better get cleaned up," he told him eventually.

Illya nodded and with Mat's help, he got to his feet.

As he staggered to the door Mat watched him go, then turning, he bent to pick up the files.

~o~

It was inevitable, just after mid day Illya was called to Mr Waverley's private office.

His heart sank.

Illya half expected Napoleon to be there and was relieved when he was not. Mr Waverley's shrewd eyes narrowed as he took in the state of the young man's face. After a moment he sighed heavily and gestured for him to have a seat.

"Sit down Mr Kuryakin."

Once he was seated Mr Waverley began.

"I won't beat about the bush Mr Kuryakin, I've called you in here to inform you that your partner Mr Solo has been suspended until further notice. A witness has told me what transpired between the pair of you earlier today, Mr Solo admitted full responsibility, I was left with little choice.

I'm sure I needn't add that I am very disappointed with both of you, brawling like a couple of school boys. Have you anything to say for yourself Mr Kuryakin?"

"I'm sorry sir," Illya said quietly.

"Just so." Waverley nodded "I'm paring you up with Mr Leighman today, please ensure that he's fully up to speed on your case."

"Yes Sir," Illya made to leave.

"I have not dismissed you Mr Kuryakin," Waverley's tone was harsher than his usual manner.

Illya paled slightly as he regained his seat.

"Mr Solo would tell me exactly nothing about the reasons for your sudden brawl, I was hoping you would be a little more forthcoming."

"Sir, I cannot, I'm sorry."

"Yes I didn't think you would somehow. You're doing yourself no favours."

"No sir,"

"Well off you go, I have no wish to have you recite your name, rank and serial number, I'm very busy this morning. I could have done without this nonsense."

Ilya got to his feet and shuffled rather miserably to the door. Mr Waverley followed him.

The young man froze as Mr Waverley put a hand to his shoulder.

"My door is always open Mr Kuryakin," he said.

Illya looked up and saw genuine concern in the old man's eyes.

IIlya could only nod his thanks, raw emotion catching in his throat.

~o~

It was unsurprising but Napoleon had never seen the old man so angry. He was as precise and dignified as ever but there was a coldness to his manner, a civility bordering on contempt as he levelled charges on the agent.

To Napoleon the whole thing was like some surreal nightmare. He couldn't for the life of him imagine Illya hitting a girl but he as much as admitted it didn't he. He as much as admitted it.

As he drove Napoleon went through the conversation with Illya again in his head. It was not just the conversation though it was his face. He knew he'd done a grievous wrong.

Napoleon rubbed at strain in his left eye as he headed into heavy traffic. It was just after lunchtime. All the small children were being picked up from school. Napoleon drove slow through the chaos of bikes and prams and chatting mothers. One young mother smiled in at him as she crossed the road holding hands with her two little ones. He looked right through her.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Before long he found himself sitting in the familiar comfort of Emma's apartment. She quickly took his coat and ushered him in, pouring him a cup of hot coffee. He found himself gazing into those beautiful hazel eyes and telling her everything.

"You look exhausted. Oh Napoleon what trouble I've brought to your door. I can't believe you were suspended. Couldn't I talk to your boss. He might listen if a woman..."

Napoleon smiled down at her despite his fatigue.

"I don't think my boss will listen to anyone just now. Sales staff punching each other out does not go down well with senior management as a rule."

"Napoleon, did Illya tell you what happened?"

"He had very little to say for himself. I think that's what annoyed me the most. Don't worry about him. Frankly I'm more worried about you."

He traced his thumb along her bruised jawline.

"I can't believe this has happened. You think you know someone and then they do something like this."

Napoleon couldn't go on, the words caught in his throat.

She raised herself up and kissed softly the moisture glistening in his eyes.

"Shhh, you sleep now. Come on." She put his coffee cup down on the little table and taking his hand she lead him to the bedroom.

"Emma, I..."

She smiled back at him. "You sleep now, love comes later."

"Yes ma'am," Napoleon smiled feeling utterly drained.

He was asleep within minutes. She took off his jacket and shoes and covered him up in her quilt.

She then sat alone on the couch and picked up the catalog once again, deciding what Mink coat she would buy. There was so many to choose from, why just settle for one.

~o~

"I always knew Napoleon was like that, he scrubs up well but you can see his manner. He's a thug at the back of it all. I always knew that. I'm a good judge of character, that's why I was chosen for this devision."

Illya sat staring out the window watching streets and houses go by. He'd rather take Napoleon's beating over again than be saddled with Leighman all day. He was so tedious.

They had gone to one of the nightclubs to casually talk to the staff there. Leighman, who had been on the case for precisely one minute was asking some very pointed questions and his voice was carrying.

Illya thought that perhaps they should call it a night as they were beginning to attract unwanted attention.

"Don't worry my Russian friend, I wouldn't hurt you." Leighman was saying now as they drove back to HQ.

"If I was to go off on one like that you'd be in the hospital. I've been learning the ancient art of Kung fu for many years. My master said that I could be a Master myself at this stage. I could teach you a few tricks in case Solo tries it on again with you,"

"The safe, must be in a back room around the rear of the building," Illya changed the subject. "The employee I spoke to told me I could take my complaint in there. They must have an office back there. I vote we check that out tomorrow. The place is always packed on Friday night. If we're caught we can always feign that we're drunk and got lost,"

"I can do that. I was once escorted out of the Thrush offices in Geneva because I told them I was drunk. They believed me and these weren't just field agents like you or me, this was top brass."

Illya let him drone on.

He'd check his messages when he got home he decided. Napoleon will probably have tried to call him. He'll ring him back and they can at least start mending fences. Napoleon will definitely get in contact. He's never angry for long. He'll still be angry understandably but he'll want to talk. Illya allowed himself a small smile, perhaps it wasn't so bleak.

~o~

Even better, he turned up in person. Napoleon was standing by his car outside Illya's apartment. Despite his painful lip Illya gave him a smile of gratitude and welcome.

"Won't you come in?" He asked

"No...Illya. I won't come in."

The look of desolation on Illya's face tugged at Napoleon but he went on.

"I just want to know why Illya. Why you would do such a thing?"

The young Russian swallowed hard as he spoke.

"Napoleon, I was drunk, I didn't mean to, if I could turn the clock back I would."

Napoleon looked at him for a long moment.

"Well you can't," he said finally.

He turned to walk back to his car.

"I wouldn't have had you for the violent type Illya," he said as he took out his keys.

Illya's head was bent in shame but that last statement had him suddenly alert.

"What do you mean," he asked as he walked over.

"Napoleon, what do you mean violent."

The taller agent ignored him.

"Napoleon please," Illya took hold of his arm.

"Get the hell away from me," Napoleon pushed him backwards.

Illya was going to approach again but stopped himself. The terrible loneliness he had felt when he first arrived in America was starting to crowd in on him again like a bad memory.

"Napoleon I..." Illya looked down at his hands as he struggled to find the words.

"You're my best friend."

"Well you should have thought of that before you hit my girlfriend."

The look on Illya's face was not lost on Napoleon.

"What are you talking about. I didn't hit Emma. I would never,"

"As you say, you were drunk Illya."

"I would never hit a girl, drunk or otherwise," Illya stated firmly.

"And yet you did,"

Illya straightened up and took a step back away from his friend.

Napoleon watched as a mixture of deep hurt and anger crossed his face.

"Napoleon, I think we must part ways. You have insulted my name and my family, we can have nothing further to say to each other."

He watched as Illya turned and headed to his apartment without looking back. Napoleon frowned to himself. That was not the reaction he'd expected.

~o~

After a week Napoleon was allowed back on the force. Waverley argued his case long and hard with his superiors stating that it was one blip in an otherwise impeccable record. The boy had solved more cases than anyone else on the team and had shown due remorse for his actions. Mr Waverley had stuck his neck out for the agent and Napoleon was soon to know all about it, in the shape of an hour long lecture in his office.

"How dare you attack another agent, your actions were completely unacceptable Mr Solo. As I stated before, I will not stand for such behaviour in my division."

"Yes sir, sorry sir," Napoleon muttered.

"Well see to it that it doesn't happen again." Mr Waverley then referred to a file on the table in front of him.

"Now, you are to work with Mr James and Mr Graigson for now. They'll brief you on their on going case. It should be right up your ally Mr Solo. Thrush has opened up an escort agency for extremely rich and lonely women. We of course want to know why. That should keep you out of trouble for a while."

"Yes Sir," Napoleon took the file from him and went to leave.

"Mr Solo, I expect you'll want to apologise to Mr Kuryakin for your actions, it's best not to leave these things too long don't you think."

"Yes sir, I'll do it today before I leave,"

Mr Waverley frowned at his tone. "Of course it would be even better if you were to put your differences aside. He is a foreigner to our country Mr Solo, I don't think he has an abundance of friends. You too got on jolly well together I thought. It's a shame."

Napoleon stood at the door for a moment. "I'll apologise to Mr Kuryakin sir." He said in that same tone.

"Well...see that you do Mr Solo and don't let it happen again." Waverley told him sternly.

When he left the room Mr Waverley walked slowly to his desk and sat frowning to himself. He took a handkerchief from his top pocket and pressed it to his forehead. Perhaps his doctor was right. Perhaps it was time to call it a day.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for the delay in posting DJ and thanks for the nudge. I'm going to try and keep it regular from here on in. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story (-;

Chapter 9

Emma turned over and let out a long easy breath. Napoleon's eyes stopped their staring in the dark and flicked to her.

Her long tossed mass of hair spread in flecks over her face. The offending bruise was now just a small yellow patch, nearly gone.

That bruise was what was keeping him up most nights.

Napoleon told himself over and over that the Russian was drunk, and yes he was young. Perhaps he indulges in those mind bending drugs that other young people find so attractive. Stranger things have happened. Napoleon could spend hours defaming his friends character and he did so regularly at least to himself but the one overruling fact remained, Illya's face when he accused him was wrong. Napoleon had spent years interrogating villains with so much to hide, he knew when someone was lying and he knew when someone was telling the truth, didn't he?.

Napoleon swept the covers back and climbed out of bed. He wasn't going to get much more sleep tonight. He replaced the covers carefully around her. Wearing only pyjamas bottoms he padded out to the kitchen ignoring the morning chill sending goose bumps to his upper arms.

Soon enough with coffee in hand he made for the relative warmth of the living room and sat heavily on the sofa. He'd planned to put on the news but found himself just staring again, cup in hand.

After some dark and unhelpful thoughts his staring eyes soon found Emma's cello. It took pride of place in her living room standing graciously on its own stand by the fire place. He had a small smile when remembering her enthusiasm, her eyes lit up when she told him of her plans to play for the Royal Philharmonic orchestra some day. They had only been going out a week and he found her enchanting. He remembered that lovely dinner they had so many months back. She was like a breath of fresh air. His smile slowly turned to a frown as he considered all that happened since. Their relationship had hit on rocky waters even before the incident with Illya. Emma sure did like to party. Even now the stink of stale wine in her bedroom was overpowering.

Napoleon's eyes narrowed. He put the coffee cup down and went slowly to the instrument looking back to ensure she was sleeping. He crouched beside it and ran fingers down its broad polished surface. He turned them up and frowned at the flecks of dust he saw there.

~o~

It would help if Illya at least tried to play the game. Napoleon didn't have to, James and Graigson were happy to have him on board and included him in all their coffee break scandal. It looked as though they had long since tired of each other as they seemed to hang on Napoleon's every word. They sat with him now relating a story about a young UNCLE agent called Sophia. She became pregnant out of wedlock and ended having to be retired early and sent to an UNCLE care home until her baby was born. It was the only safe place, she had no one to turn to. Napoleon remembered the whole sad tale and heard of her tears on her last day, packing up her bits and pieces. The two boys spent their coffee break surmising on which hapless Uncle agent was the father.

Illya really wasn't playing the game. He sat alone with a cup of black coffee, his glasses in place going through a large book of files. He looked so conspicuous in a room full of chatting people but that was Illya. He was never one to care about convention.

Napoleon excused himself as his new partners started in on possible Thrush father's for the unfortunate baby.

"They keeping you busy?" he asked with a slight smile.

Illya raised his head but sent it back down to the file in front of him just as quick.

"Busy yes,,"

"Anything I can help with ?"

You can help by getting out of my light. Illya bit back the sarcastic comment and instead shook his head.

"No thank you Napoleon. Mr Leighman will be along in a minute, we'll need to go through it together before we head out."

"It's a big job," Napoleon said, feeling anxious for his former friend.

"It is a big job," Leighman grinned as he came up and ruffled Illya's hair.

"I bet you wished you had a crack at it Napoleon. Thrush have invented a biological weapon so small in dimensions it can fit on the head of a pin and we found the laboratory. Quite a trick eh!"

"Sit down Jack," Illya snapped.

Seriously the man could not keep his mouth shut for two minutes together. It was really starting to work on the Russian's last nerve.

"Yeah that is quite a trick," Napoleon winced.

"Illya, Thrush will care a lot about this one. They've invested a lot of money. If you run into trouble..."

"If he runs into trouble he will have his partner to back him up. You don't even have to worry about it any more. Illya here told me all about your little face off in ready room two. Not great is it Napoleon."

In a weak moment and with no one else to confide in Illya had shared with his new partner about the fight with Napoleon and how he was hoping for a reconciliation . He should have known what Leighman would do with the information.

"With all respect Solo, me and Illya have things we need to discuss here. You know how it is." Leighman smiled graciously and Napoleon gave him a small smile in return though they hated each other's guts.

Napoleon returned to his team feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.

~o~

Illya had carefully staked the place out for more than a week. He had come in under the guise of computer technician adding new reels, wire clips and paper rolls to their three main computers. He had found the lab quite by accident on day three. Actually he had only followed the girl because she was pretty. His former partner was rubbing off on him, he decided. Her spectacles and white cost gave her a look of intelligence but he never dreamt she was one of the main operators. Sure enough she led him straight to the lab behind a reinforced glass door in the basement. Sometimes coups like this happened quite by accident.

Illya smiled to himself as he lifted the tiny compound from the protective shield. It was just a minuscule dot behind two pieces of glass. Thus far he had gotten in undetected, the droning hum of the labs powerful air conditioner the only sound.

He took a specially constructed vessel from his bag and carefully placed the phial into it. His own breaths came loud to his ears as with slightly shaky hands he placed the glass shield in its new housing. He closed the container carefully and got to his feet. He jumped slightly as a lock sounded on the main door. A sudden rush of adrenaline welled within him as quickly he scanned for another route out.

"You really think we would let you steal from us Mr Kuryakin?"

Illya spun around to face the disjointed voice.

The Head of Thrush in England stared back at him, Illya recognised him from slides he'd seen.

Another man Illya didn't recognise stepped forward. "You've been in this business a while now young man. Did it not occur to you as strange that we allowed you this close to a most coveted biological weapon. Did it never strike you as being a little too easy?"

No it didn't occur to Illya, he had to admit he was off his game on this one.

"Search him," Manfred Crow ordered.

Illya could only raise his hands as two thrush agents relieved him of his communicator, his gun and his bag of tools. The Head of Thrush turned to the other man and spoke in a low whisper as Illya was searched. He tried to listen but one of the men searching was issuing instructions to him. Just off to his right he could hear a door go. In that split second he took both their heads and rammed them together, both fell, he stepped over a body. He pushed another operative out of the way and gained the corridor. He ran blindly the length of it sirens flaring loudly around him. He gained stairs and hiked up them two at a time. He rammed the door into the thrush agent entering and smacked him backwards with a savage punch.

A large warehouse area.

"Where the fuck am I," he muttered to himself as he ran through the open space.

Thrush agents crowded in from all sides. None wanted to take him out though plenty took aim. Illya was on the point of giving up but then he saw it, a small metal door swinging on it's hinges. As they approached cautiously to surround him he suddenly took off and made for that door. This took them by surprise and they tore after him. Now they were shooting. Illya winced as a bullet skidded off the metal as he swung the door shut.

~o~

Outside he jumped from stone steps and ran the length of a deserted alley. Thankfully it was after dawn and he could just about see his way. He ran harder even as he could hear them clattering after him, his breaths coming in feint gasps. He rounded the corner and tore across the deserted street. He stood for a moment and wheeled around desperately, where was the car, where was Leighman. That moment had cost him. Several Thrush agents appeared at the corner of the building peering out cautiously. They smiled broadly on seeing his dilemma.

He turned and ran towards a patch of waist land, with no weapons or communication all he could hope to do was out run them and find a place to hide out. Now scores of agents were taring after him. He knew if he didn't gain ground soon they would cut him off. His right foot found a discarded beer bottle and it smashed cutting his ankle badly. He skidded to the ground. Somehow with a feint whimper he managed to get back up and limped into a run but the agents were nearly upon him. He managed to make it past the wasteland and out onto an adjoining street.

Then he saw it, an early house, an illegal pub. His heart gave a little lift. They wouldn't follow him in there. With new energy he tore out across the grass verge and into the road. He didn't even look. The car ploughed straight into him sending him up over the bonnet. He smashed head first onto the concrete below. The agents chasing froze momentarily and then dispersed walking nonchalantly off up the road.

Three exited the car. They picked him up off the road and bundled him into the back seat. One of their number adorned gloves and calmly cleaned the blood stain off the ground. That done, they got back in and drove away.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Napoleon frowned slightly in irritation as she staggered into the kitchen. He took a sip of his coffee and started in on his tie. She sat heavily and put her head down on the table groaning loudly.

"That's what you get when you mix Irish coffee with brandy," he smiled unhelpfully "I did tell you,"

"It wouldn't have been so bad if you were there with me," she grumbled, lifting her aching head from the table.

"I'm not your nurse maid.," he said evenly. "Besides, I have to work."

He took another swig of coffee and grabbed his jacket.

"Oh yeah, off you go, don't mind me."

He kissed his hand and put it to her face as he passed her on the way out.

But just at the door he turned and looked at her, his face more serious.

"Emma...I have to work late. Stay in tonight please. Don't go out by yourself." He asked.

"You're not my nurse maid, your words not mine,"

He let out an exasperated sigh, took a breath and started again.

"Please Emma, I'll take you out as soon as I'm finished this large order. I promise. Don't go out by yourself it isn't safe to be coming home at all hours of the night."

"Yes sir," she gave him a mock salute.

He went to her then and pulled her up into a cuddle.

"Why don't you go back to bed," he smiled warmly.

"Might just do that," she winced.

He kissed her properly then running his hands down her back and bringing them to rest on her bum.

"I love you," he smiled.

"Love you too, now go on. Those TV sets won't sell themselves. I'll see you tonight."

With a smile for her still playing on his lips he headed out.

Her smile in return vanished as soon as he was gone. She sighed to herself as she looked around the new apartment he had helped finance.

I will miss this place, she thought. But then the big pay out was due any time now. She had already settled on a villa in France. So much more liberated than dirty stuffy old London. She could see herself in large sun glasses and a floppy hat sipping wine outside a quaint little eatery of an evening. How she would turn heads. Every man passing would take a second look at her making their wives jealous. She giggled to herself as she considered it.

~o~

As he entered the main building James and Graigson greeted him warmly and quickly pulled him into the conference room just across from the canteen.

"What is this about?" Napoleon asked looking from one to the other.

"Tell him," James urged, practically bursting himself.

"You were right Napoleon, she made straight for headquarters to complain about you, said you were anything but a gentleman. She left the carnation you were wearing on their desk so we had a good old listen in as Thrush man Dennis Pierce confessed to everything ,"

Napoleon smiled in satisfaction.

James took up the story.

"Apparently they are using this escort agency to throw these ultra rich ladies into compromising positions. Then that old chestnut, they threaten to tell their husbands if the poor dears don't hand over a sizeable wad of cash."

"Thrush must be getting hard up for funds," Napoleon grinned.

"Perhaps we should put up a collection for their Christmas party," Graigson added making them all laugh.

As they headed out to cross the hall for their morning coffee Mat Roach stepped in front of them and put a hand to Napoleon's shoulder.

"Don't go in there," he told him. "Come into the conference room. I need to talk to you,"

But Leighman's voice was carrying as he talked with anyone who'd listen.

"We were surrounded on all sides, alarms were going. It was a mess. I don't want to blame his culture but you know sometimes Illya Kuryakin is a typical Ruskie. If he'd gone with my plan..."

All heads turned and agents cleared out of his way as Napoleon approached. One young agent nudged Leighman to shut up but he ploughed ahead on full steam.

He turned around on the table he was sitting on to look at the approaching agent. "Ah Napoleon. I'm still in one piece but just about. I'm telling you, it was a close one. I'm sorry about Illya but Thrush will probably..."

"Where is Illya?" Napoleon snapped.

"I don't know," Leighman shrugged plaintively. "Alarms were sounding, thrush agents were piling out of every door. I had to move,"

"You left him there?" Napoleon roared.

Agents subtly began to get between the two men as Napoleons anger mounted.

"Hay Solo, don't start in on me?" Leighman put his hands up in a submissive pose.

"Everyone knows you've got a short fuse. Save it for the bad guys eh!"

"You piece of filth, you better start praying that he comes out of this alive or I'll..."

"Or you'll what Mr Solo?"

Mr Waverly stood at the canteen door looking far from impressed.

"It's past nine o clock already, have none of you any cases to work on. I'll be happy to give you more work if you find yourself short. We have amassed quite a back log in the downstairs vault."

As he spoke he stepped aside to let the young men and women in his command troupe out. They did so hurriedly without meeting his gaze.

"Not you Mr Solo, I want to see you in my office immediately."

~o~

Once they were alone in his office Mr Waverly turned stern eyes on one of his more senior agents.

"More disruption, trouble seems to follow you these days doesn't it Mr Solo."

"I wasn't going to touch the little...Mr Leighman.

Please sir. I understand that when we sign up for this we are from that moment on expendable but sir I just need a day to search. Please sir, just give me a day."

"I'm sorry Mr Solo, I wanted one of the more senior officers to tell you in person of Mr Kuryakin's disappearance I know you two were friends at one time but it was not to be. As for helping with a rescue attempt there is no need. I have sent Mr Jamison and Mr Coyle to take care of that for me. I expect to hear from them any time now."

"Jamison isn't experienced enough, why send him. He doesn't know the first thing..."

"Mr Solo...I realise you're upset so I will make allowances but don't test my patience. Jamison and Coyle will bring him home, I have no doubt."

Napoleon did have doubts and stood eagerly to voice them.

Mr Waverly was quick to cut him off. "That is my final decision Mr Solo. You need to get on with your own work. James and Graigson are your partners now and I understand your case is going very well."

"Yes sir," Napoleon muttered, lost in desperate thought.

"You know Mr Solo, I had actually considered sending you on the mission to find Mr Kuryakin, but quite frankly I've not been very happy with you lately."

Napoleon looked at his boss then.

"It's nothing I can put my finger on but you're just not the same dependable rogue you used to be. I thought I knew you Mr Solo.

Don't get me wrong I have fallen out with many an agent myself. We live in each other's pockets here, bound to happen. But there was no reconciliation. That surprised me. I wouldn't have thought you were one to hold a grudge."

"I'm sorry sir," Napoleon said quietly.

"So am I Mr Solo. When they find Mr Kuryakin and I did say WHEN I would suggest you put your differences aside, talk with him and come to an understanding. We're all expendable on this earth Mr Solo, you don't know the day or the hour you will be called home. " Mr Waverly's voice seemed to falter slightly as he spoke making Napoleon look over at him.

The old man stood looking out the window.

"Get along with you," he said quietly. "There's work to be done,"

~o~

Emma stood in the great drawing room pacing slightly and wringing her hands. The day was finally here. Just after Napoleon left a car arrived to bring her to Thrush central. She was about to get the biggest pay out of her life, why was she so nervous.

She would have to hurry home and pack a bag, should she leave him a note?. The far door went making her jump. Manfred Crow walked in looking quite at home in the elegant surroundings. He wore an uncharacteristic warm smile as he approached wielding a large fat envelope.

"Well deserved," he smiled as he handed it to her.

"Fifty thousand?" She asked pointedly as she took it.

"Well actually fifty two thousand, we have just one small job left for you to do before you go,"

"Always one more thing," she groaned. "What is it, I need to get going. I have a flight to catch."

"This won't take long," Manfred Crow went to the fireplace and pulled the long bell chord hanging from the ceiling.

Her eyes widened and she moved closer to Manfred as three Thrush agents walked in dragging a forth man between them. They threw him to the ground in front of Manfred. He cried out as he hit the ground and squirmed slightly on the floor.

Emma held her breath. She hoped it wasn't, but she recognised the blond hair almost immediately. Though now it was caked in dirt and what looked like dried blood.

"Fetch that chair." Manfred commanded.

A hard backed chair was brought to the centre of the room and Illya was reifed up by his collar and planted on it. He groaned slightly as his arms were wrenched behind him and tied at the wrists.

Emma gave out a tiny gasp as she took in his full appearance. His face was nearly unrecognisable from that cute, shy young fella hanging on Napoleon's every word. His left eye was nearly closed shut, an angry bruise spreading down to his cheek. His bottom lip was swollen and cut with dried blood crusting at the edge of his mouth. A cut just below his left ear was bleeding profusely down into the collar of his filthy shirt.

Once he was tied, Manfred Crow crouched low and began slapping at his face. The young Russian winced and tried to escape this latest assault but Crow was persistent.

"Wake up, wake up," he ordered.

As dazed as he was Illya could only groan as the assault continued. Finally with little other choice, he opened his eyes and stared straight ahead.

Manfred crouched beside him speaking directly in his ear.

"You recognise this woman don't you," Manfred smiled smugly.

Illya's haunted eyes flicked in her direction for just a second and then he continued to stare straight ahead.

"We thought you would like to know what it was all about, what simple scheme ended your wretched life. Emma here, or to go by her real name Iris Perks is a high class hooker. We hired her simply to bed your partner and mess with his head. She did an excellent job don't you think?"

There was no reaction whatsoever from the young Russian. He continued to stare straight ahead though he winced every now and then with something resembling a nervous tick.

Manfred was disappointed. He'd been looking forward to this meeting.

'Well, what have you to say?"

Was that a trace of a smile on the Russians lips. Manfred Crow's mouth hardened in viciousness.

"Fetch me that probe again,"

That did get a reaction. He couldn't help it. Illya swallowed hard and began to tremble slightly, his frightened eyes drawn to that dreaded weapon. Crow took the small probe from his colleague. This time he went in under Illya's shirt finding the delicate skin at his armpit. The Russian cried out desperately as the probe sent a burning, electrical jolt right through him. He struggled frantically to get away from the searing pain but Crow had a firm grip on him as he worked. Even after it was removed he struggled to silence his whimpers.

"Hurts, doesn't it," Crow said in an almost soothing voice. "We're nearly done with you. Just a quick round of medication to learn all you know and we'll let you pass on. Just bare with us"

Manfred Crow patted his shoulder then and got up.

"Where's Dr Lake, he was supposed to be here early," Crow asked impatiently.

"He wanted to talk to you, he was unable to acquire one of the more effective medications. Apparently there was a problem at customs."

Manfred Crow growled under his breath.

"Watch him," he ordered as he headed quickly out to speak with their torture expert.

Emma suddenly found herself alone with a very injured man. The one lone Thrush agent left to guard them soon lost interest and ambled over to sit on a chair in the far corner.

She stood looking down at him. He didn't meet her gaze, his laboured breathing thick in the air between them.

With shaky hands she delved into her purse. Pulling out a clean handkerchief she crouched beside him and dabbed at the blood seeping from the wound below his ear.

"We'll soon get this cleaned up." She said in a ridiculous cheerful voice.

He didn't look at her but only grimaced slightly as she dabbed at the open wound.

"I'll get you out of here Illya," she blurted suddenly. "I promise,"

He looked at her then, looked straight at her.

That look she could feel in her shoes. She swallowed back the tears and tried to think of something else to say. Anything that would take that look from his face.

The door went and Manfred Crow was back. With him was an elderly man in steal. spectacles and a white coat. He went directly over and lifted Illya's chin to look in his eyes.

"You haven't left me much to work with, I'll have to give him a full examination before we begin. Find out how much more he can stand,"

Manfred Crow turned to Emma, "you have your money now, one of my men will show you out. Enjoy your new found wealth I hope you secure that villa you were looking at."

He smiled charmingly and shook her hand. She couldn't speak. Another equally charming man gestured for her to follow him. As she passed, her eyes watched as the blond friend of her fiancé was untied. He didn't look back at her, he was surrounded and his head was turned the other way. All she could see was his blond hair caked in dried blood.

She didn't go to the airport that night. She dumped the money in a bottom drawer and took a stiff drink her hands shaking as she held the glass. Thankfully Napoleon didn't notice, he had worries of his own.

Two days later on a wet Friday evening in the centre of town an unmarked car skidded passed revellers waiting to enter Huck's nightclub. As it sped by a door opened and something large was tossed out. The body rolled for several minutes before coming to a stop on the rain drenched road.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

The ambulance driver frowned as he looked down at his watch.

"He has a pulse but it's feint. Poor git will probably be dead before we even get him there."

The other ambulance man crouched beside him. He took the young man's face in his hand and turned it towards him.

"Someone's had a right go at him look at that shiner."

"Probably a jealous husband," the driver nodded. "Come on mate, let's get you out of this rain."

As they spoke the driver put his arms under Illya's arms and clasped his wrists. The other man took his legs and together they hauled him onto the stretcher.

His face was pasty white under the bruising and he hadn't shown any signs of life in the last few hours other than shallow, laboured breaths.

~o~

Thrush knew what they were doing dumping him out. It was a Friday night and the emergency department was full to capacity. There had been a massive fight at the local nightclub and scores of revellers descended on the hospital dragging with them their walking wounded.

As he was wheeled down a dimly lit corridor towards the ER department a very drunk girl was pushed into the trolly by her friends. She nearly landed in on top of him. The ambulance man barked at her to get up out of it. She laughed as she staggered off back to her party.

The waiting area was over crowded already and it was still early evening. He was pushed into a dark corner with a bump and the brakes were slammed home.

"Here Miss, Miss." The ambulance driver held up his hand trying to flag down a passing nurse. She gave him a look of apology as she hurried by.

After a couple of minutes trying to grab someones attention he gave up.

"Right mate, I'll be off then. Don't worry I'll sign you in, they can get your name when you wake."

He was left alone then in a corner of the large waiting area completely unattended.

A drugged up teenager left his place holding up the far wall. He threw a wary eye on the reception desk as he sauntered over. When no one was looking he rifled through the unconscious man's pockets. On finding no money he took a pen and his wrist watch.

The noise, the fighting and the chaos continued all around him, Illya was oblivious to all of it. He lay in a soiled damp mess on a rickety trolly as bottles were thrown, hospital staff wrestled with visiter's. police were called and didn't show and someone urinated in the corner beside him. Nursing staff and hospital security battled to regain control as more casualties poured in from the same nightclub fight. An hour later his vital signs were taken and a mask was fitted over his face but no other intervention. The place was packed solid.

~o~

They had gotten the word in a coded message sent from one Thrush operative to another. The receptionist in charge of cross board communications literally ran down the corridor and met with Mr Waverly as he was coming out of his office.

On reading it Mr Waverly thanked her and walked swiftly towards the main communications bank.

"Get me Mr Solo on the phone. Hurry man, Hurry!"

It was worse than he'd imagined. Napoleon knew there had been big fight down town but he stared around now as staggering drunk revellers threw up on chairs and picked fights with overworked nursing staff.

One spaced out teenage girl threw her arms around him and tried to get him to dance with her. Without looking he took her arms from around his neck and handed her over to her equally spaced out boyfriend.

Graigson and James were with him, all three were dressed in casual clothing. They found a coffee machine and each took a cup as they sauntered casually around the hospital searching. After half an hour of wandering around the emergency department trying to ignore the smell of stale beer and weed they finally found him. James was gesturing to them as he stood over a trolly pushed into a far corner. Napoleon knew he was injured but froze in shock at his wretched appearance.

"Jesus," he muttered.

On checking Illya's eyes with a small torch, he immediately rolled up his right sleeve. He frowned to himself at what he found there, track marks that told of many injections.

"Illya, Illya it's Napoleon. Can you hear me?".

He tapped lightly on his face as he spoke but there was no response.

"Looks like they really went to town on him." James commented.

Napoleon nodded grimly and threw an eye on their immediate surroundings.

"Ok, James go down and open that back door we found earlier. we're going to have to walk him out of here."

"There's not a smeg out of him Napoleon. theres no way we won't be seen," Graigson argued.

Napoleon gestured to their surroundings.

"Do you really think anyones paying attention?"

Graigson had to nod agreement and he took up position beside the trolly.

"I'm sorry Illya, theres no other way." Napoleon took away the oxygen mask and smoothed back his greasy blond hair.

"We'll get you fixed up." he muttered as he lifted him carefully from the trolly.

They dragged the unconscious man between them. The few staff members they did pass paid little attention. There were so many drunks in tonight, one more youngster, out of his face on God know what wasn't going to stop traffic.

~o~

They made for headquarters then, the little VW van braking speed limits as it skidded through the empty streets. Napoleon sat in the back holding him steady as Graigson drove and James spoke to headquarters telling them what they need.

He felt cold as ice. Napoleon held him close trying desperately to get some heat into him.

"You'll be fine Illya, our doctors are the best in the world. You'll be better in no time,"

He tried to keep his voice cheerful and calm all the while he wiped at moisture gathering in his own eyes.

There was no response from his friend but the same laboured wheezing breaths.

The little van pulled up round the back of the building and disappeared into a garage.

Two Uncle doctors were standing ready as many hands moved Illya on to a waiting stretcher.

The head doctor made no comment as he shone a torch into his eyes and checked his pulse.

A look passed between the two doctors as a nurse fitted an oxygen mask over his face.

"Aren't you going to check for broken bones," Napoleon asked, starting to lose patience.

"We'll give him a shot of adrenaline," the head doctor decided, "if that doesn't rouse him..."

"I think his arm is broken," Napoleon told them.

"That's the least of his problems," the doctor turned to the efficient young nurse beside him.

"Have them set up the gastric suction machine in room two."

Napoleon wasn't sure what that meant but it didn't sound good.

He followed along after the stretcher ignoring James and Graigson's offer of coffee in the canteen.

Illya was wheeled hurriedly down a corridor, the head doctor all the while slapping his face lightly trying to rouse him. They turned into the designated treatment room, a nurse politely stood in front of Napoleon and urged him to wait outside.

Napoleon opened his mouth but he knew better than to argue, he was wasting her time.

He sat on a hard backed chair just outside the door.

He put his head down in his hands as raw emotion started to take hold. How could he let this happen. Illya and Leighman. One conscientious to a fault the other lazy and reckless.

He was so caught up in his own world he just let everything of importance slide.

Even if Illya sensed danger he would plough ahead with following orders. Napoleon told him about that before. He told him. It's ok to fight another day. Pull back, pull back. Idiot!. Napoleon swiped fingers across his left eye. He should have been there. If he had only been there it wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have let it happen.

He was brought from his thoughts by a muffled cry. It was Illya, they had managed to wake him. He listened intently, another cry louder this time. What were they doing in there, he had suffered enough.

Napoleon exploded out of his seat and barged in. The nursing staff were all around the examination table. There was a machine vibrating nearby with a rather loud motor. Napoleon was about to say he was staying whether they liked it or not when a nurse pulled him closer.

"Push his knees down," she urged him. "Straighten his legs."

Illya was trying to curl into the foetal position.

Napoleon did what he was asked trying to assess what was going on. The doctor had a long tube in hand, Napoleon's heart sank.

"Open your mouth Mr Kuryakin. Just once more, come on, last time," he spoke clearly.

Illya's face was glazed in mucus. He grimaced and shook his head slightly as he struggled against all those holding him.

"Come on Mr Kuryakin, open your mouth,"

"Let me...,"

Napoleon moved the little Asian nurse to the foot of the table and he took position near the patients head.

"Illya, you have to do this," he told him firmly . "You've ingested too many torture meds curtesy of Thrush and they have to be taken out of your system. Now open your mouth, that's an order."

This time he obeyed, he slowly opened his mouth as a single tear escaped and ran down the side of his cheek.

Napoleon swiped it away feeling the moisture on the back of his fingers.

The doctor wasted no time. The tube was slowly inserted. Illya squeezed his eyes shut, bucking against the foreign object being forced down into his stomach.

"I know it's unpleasant. Just breathe, don't fight it. Just breathe," the doctor told him as the tube slid right in.

Illya's right arm flailed out in desperation as sweat broke out in beads on his face. Napoleon caught hold of his hand.

"Keep calm Illya, your safe. Squeeze my hand."

Illya looked at him then, with terrified eyes as the machine began sucking out toxins from his stomach.

"That's right look at me, squeeze my hand." Napoleon told him.

The sound of the suction was truly horrific. The doctor moved the tube slightly causing Illya to wretch and struggle against all those holding him.

"No, look at me," Napoleon told him firmly. "You're safe, you're with people who care about you. Look at me Illya."

Another tear escaped, Napoleon brushed it away.

"They're nearly finished Illya,"

"No, don't nod," the doctor laughed slightly as the Russian acknowledged his friends words.

"Ok, we're done. A little unpleasant now, just for a minute."

The doctor straightened up and began pulling the tube slowly from his throat.

Napoleon took hold of him as he began to struggle.

"Nearly done," the doctor reassured him as the long suction tube was pulled slowly out.

Finally it was removed. Illya grimaced in pain and revulsion as nurses hurried to clean mucus and sweat from his face and neck.

"Alright, can we clear the room. We need to get him cleaned up. Give the man some privacy."

In his dazed state, Illya still had a tight hold of Napoleon's hand.

Napoleon bent low so that he could hear him over the chaos around them.

"I'm not gone anywhere, I'm just outside."

Illya nodded, looking a little sick.

"Are you ok?" Napoleon asked knowing it was a stupid question.

After a moment he nodded again.

"Napoleon...thank you."

Napoleon smiled and ran a hand through his sticking up blond hair.

"What are partners for," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

~o~

He was settled for the night then. His arm was indeed broken due to his encounter with the Thrush car in his bid to escape. He was scheduled to have it manipulated the following day when he was more stable. His head wound did not seem serious but they'd be keeping him in for observation in the following days to make sure all was well.

Once he'd been cleaned up, Illya had been wheeled off down the corridor toward the private rooms. Napoleon did not know whether to go or stay. They'd be giving him something to help him sleep, maybe it would be best if he saw him in the morning. He was about to go when a nurse hurried up to him.

"He won't settle, he wants to see you. Will you come?"

"Of course," Napoleon nodded and followed her down the corridor.

She showed him into suite 8 and with a smile she left them to it. Illya looked so different now. He was lying in a clean bed wearing bright blue pyjamas. His broken hand was secured in a strapped up brace. His hair was still a blond, dirty mess but the rest of him was clean. The bruises looked stark against his pale skin.

Napoleon took his place on a stiff metal chair by the bed.

"You're looking better," he smiled.

"Feeling better," Illya lied.

"Napoleon, I've something to tell you."

"Tell me tomorrow Illya, your eyes are closing."

Illya struggled to keep awake. He leaned forward and with his good hand he took hold of Napoleon's jacket.

"Napoleon she was there, Emma was there."

Napoleon stared back at him in silence, his mind reeling.

"Napoleon please, whatever you think of me, don't see her again. She was there."

The older agent took hold of him and eased him back down against the pillow.

"Please Napoleon," he whispered as heavy lids began to close.

Napoleon ran a hand down his bruised cheek.

"Sleep Tovarisch,"

Illya finally succumbed to the sleep he had been deprived of for days. Napoleon sat in the dim light of the infirmary room staring straight ahead of him. As he thought of all that had happened to his friend, his hands slowly closed into fists.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

A/n. A double posting now of chapters 12 and 13 to finish out the story.

He stood at the door for a moment just trying to get himself together. He didn't know what he was going to say or do. Finally he put the key in the lock and turned it.

As he entered the kitchen he could hear her moving around in the bedroom. A moment later she padded into the room. Her tossed bed hair and sleepy expression tore at his heart.

"You want some coffee," she asked as she took the kettle to the sink to fill.

There was silence, she turned to him then.

"Where have you been all night, you look terrible, what's wrong?"

Just as she said it sudden realisation dawned on her pretty face.

She made a dive for it but Napoleon was there first. He ripped the bag from her fingers and emptied the contents out on the table.

"This is a nice little shooter," he said as he picked up the small dainty hand gun. "Would cure all my ill's fairly rapid."

He opened the cylinder and threw out six bullets on to the table.

"I wasn't going to shoot, I was just going to use it to keep you from hurting me."

She tried her best to sound vulnerable.

"How much did they pay you?" Napoleon asked.

"Napoleon please I..."

"How much did they pay you?"

The sudden anger in his voice made her jump.

"52,000," she said, looking straight at him.

"52,000 that's a lot, you must have provided quite a service."

"Napoleon please don't. I'd sooner throw it all into the canal, everything is such a mess." She sat heavily at the kitchen table and began to sob throwing her hair back from her face.

Despite everything Napoleon found he had to steal himself against her tears.

"It's all been a lie hasn't it, right from the very start."

"Napoleon I never meant for it to happen like this, I'm just an ordinary girl. Manfred Crow planned it all. He's an animal Napoleon, he hit me."

"He hit you?"

"He made me do it Napoleon. I was supposed to sleep with Illya but I wouldn't do that to you. I couldn't hurt you like that so in the end I just kissed him. When Manfred found out he went nuts and he hit me."

"He hit you, and you blamed Illya." Napoleon muttered. " it's all coming clear now."

His tone had mellowed, she took her chance.

"Napoleon it was Manfred Crow, he made me do it. I know you don't believe me but you have to, for all that we've meant to each other."

She leaned in and kissed his lips. He didn't return it but at least he didn't push her away.

"Napoleon, I have the 52,000 dollars here. Oh Napoleon we could go, just leave together. Set up somewhere else. We could settle down, have children, why not," she smiled up at him now, her eyes glittering.

"I could think of one very big reason why not," Napoleon told her.

She frowned slightly.

"Because you're an ambitious, self serving cow," he pushed her back away from him and headed into the living room.

She looked to the front door but then she was still in her night clothes and more importantly the money was in a drawer in her bedroom.

"What can I say, tell me what I can do to make this right Napoleon."

He looked into her eyes, his heart torn in two. He loved her so much at least he thought he did. He would have forgiven her anything. He could have made allowances for any transgression, but not that.

"You saw Illya at Thrush headquarters. You saw him there and yet chose to say nothing. They almost killed him Emma."

"What's going to happen to me Napoleon?"

Napoleon smiled sadly at that question. In a strange way it summed her up. Why did he never see it before.

"That's not for me to decide. There will be two Uncle agents calling here later today. I suggest you be here when they call. That is your only safe option now."

"I've made such a mess, haven't I."

This time she tried to sound innocent as well as vulnerable.

Napoleon could only nod agreement.

"Napoleon what about us, whatever has happened I am still your fiancé. I still wear your ring."

"I know, you're still my fiancé." Napoleon put his hand out to her.

She went to him and took his hand, smiling up at him.

"You are my fiancé, who kissed my best friend."

"Napoleon, I..."

In one swift movement he caught hold of her wrist and led her to a high backed chair by the fireplace. Before she could struggle he had her face down over his lap and then reaching over he took hold of the bow from the cello.

"I'm going to finally make some good use of this thing."

"Napoleon please," she screeched as she began to struggle. He let her struggle on and ware herself out. She threw her hand back and he caught hold of it and secured it behind her.

"This will be a good lesson for you if ever you do get hitched," he told her.

"Men don't generally like it when you kiss their best friends."

He waited a moment for her to cease her struggling, then he began.

She growled in anger and mortification as the bow came down on her silk clad backside. At first she was just angry and indignant but Napoleon meant for her to remember this lesson. As the punishment went on she struggled and cursed and then she began to whimper. The bow was coming down over parts already dealt with and he was not holding back.

"Please Napoleon stop, it's hurting,"

"It's supposed to hurt. Maybe next time you'll consider other people and the dangers they have to face at the hands of your friends,"

"They...are...not...my...friends," she sobbed hysterically.

Napoleon gave her five more, just a bit harder than the rest. Then he let her up. She was a sobbing mess by that time. He reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief.

"I never laid a hand on a woman in my life Emma, but that was necessary. You need to think before you fall in with people who are bent on hurting others. I'm sure that deep down there is a nice girl inside of you but you need to think about your choices Emma."

"I am a nice girl, you know I am," she pleaded.

She went on sobbing into his handkerchief, last nights mascara running tiny rivers down her cheeks.

"Emma listen to me now."

She cowered a little as he approached but this time he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Don't leave this apartment, the two uncle agents will be here around noon. Go with them. Do you understand?"

She nodded rather miserably.

Napoleon gave her a long look then, his haunted eyes filled with pain and regret.

Then he walked to the door.

"Good bye Emma," he said without turning.

~o~

For the rest of the day he was just in a daze. He couldn't drive, couldn't concentrate. He found a cove almost deserted on account of the rain. For a while he sat in his car watching the drops speckle the windshield then he got out. He walked then letting the cold air seep into his clothes. At times rain lashed at his face, he didn't care. He wasn't in a mind to care. Perhaps he should have let Emma use the gun.

He had planned a whole future with her. He imagined photographs of their children on the mantle piece, the couple as an old pair at their daughters graduation. Thrush had really worked a number on him this time. He sat down on a large rock and finally let his emotions out. Alone in a deserted cove pelted with rain he sat and cried his heart out.

After an hour he got up, he listened as violent waves crashed to the shore, watched the seagulls battle for flight against the wind.

Nothing could ever be the same again. How could it be. He had lost everything. He stared out at the ocean through swollen exhausted eyes and realised he was very much alone.

"Lovely fresh day,"

He jumped a little at the sudden intrusion and turned. His eyes grew wide in disbelief.

"Mr Waverly what are you doing here...sir,"

"You didn't call in this morning. Then I got this memo stating that your lady friend is a Thrush spy so I surmised rightly that we need to have a talk you and I."

"Have you come here to kill me sir?" Napoleon asked.

"No, no we're far too short staffed for that, I merely need to get your report on it. Besides it's high time I got some exercise, so my doctor tells me."

"Sir, how did you know where to find me?"

"I asked Mr Kuryakin, apparently this is where you usually go when you mess up and want to hide for the day."

Napoleon had to smile at that.

"Where's your car?" Mr Waverly asked.

"It's just there," Napoleon pointed.

"Thank heaven, I walked all the way down here from up there." Mr Waverly pointed to a rather shallow slope in the cliff.

"I think my doctor and my wife are in collusion to finish me off."

Napoleon wasn't listening. He was staring out at the serf, dark thoughts beginning to crowd in on him again.

"You'll be alright you know, you're not the first fellow to have lost in love and you won't be the last. It's a game of risk Mr Solo. You put your heart out there and hope it won't get crushed."

"Thank you sir, but I was actually thinking about Illya...Mr Kuryakin. I was rough on him. I got so caught up I never doubted her for a second and yet I wouldn't give him an inch. I behaved very badly."

"Well you can talk to him tomorrow. He's confined to a hospital bed for the next week or so. That should render him a captive audience. Just tell him what you told me."

Mr Waverly looked up at the steel grey sky as rain began to descend once more.

"Come on, we need to get out of this weather. I don't know about you but I could do with a stiff brandy."

~o~

After a change of clothes Mr Waverly took him to an exclusive country club. To outsiders it was just another stuffy men's club where elderly gentlemen sit smoking cigars and arguing on horse racing and the stock market but it was a haven where one could sit by a fire and have a fine meal and talk about everything. Nothing said was ever repeated outside it's walls.

They talked long into the evening. A fine house wine at dinner and many brandy's after that stripped away his stiff formal politeness and loosened Napoleon tongue. He told Waverly everything.

"Women, you can't trust them, devils every last one of them," Mr Waverly said.

"What about your wife sir," Napoleon asked.

"Ah, that was my next point, you only need to find one Napoleon, just one...and that changes everything."

"I thought I had met that one," Napoleon muttered.

Waverly shook his head. "No, she was a Thrush spy."

Napoleon smiled as the old man began to nod, his eyes beginning to close.

"Sir, I think I'd better call it a night,"

Mr Waverly woke with a start.

"Oh yes, yes. I'll order a car to take us both home I think. You're way too inebriated to drive."

~o~

She walked hurriedly towards the terminal gate. She could not hide her smile of excitement as her new life in Paris beckoned.

As soon as he left her apartment she hurried to dress, wincing as her pants came up over her bruised bottom.

Then she hit the stores and bought the most beautiful travel suit. It was a pants suit with a scarf and a darling little box hat to match. Now she truly looked the part as she headed towards the terminal gate.

The gate was shut. She lifted the catch smiling up at the handsome young man in a uniform suit.

As she walked her hand began to sting. She lifted it to her mouth frowning at the spot of blood there.

She collapsed just meters from the plane. A crowd gathered round, concerned faces peered down at her, calls for someone to fetch a doctor.

In all the commotion no one noticed as the little bag she was carrying was taken up by a handsome young man in a uniform suit. In the short time it took for help to arrive she was dead.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A/N double post. Don't forget to read chapter 12 first (-:

Illya enjoyed the first decent breakfast he'd had all week. He was fasting yesterday for theatre to have his radius bone manipulated back into place.

He'd ordered a full fried breakfast and enjoyed every bit of it. He even had orange juice, something he never usually bothers with.

"That looked good," Napoleon said as he entered the room.

"I think I ate it too fast," Illya smiled with a slight wince.

"Not surprising, you haven't eaten in days."

Illya's bruises had begun to fade already and his left wrist was now bound up in a stiff white cast.

"What happened there?" Napoleon pointed to a dressing on his neck just below his left ear.

"Oh it's nothing, he threatened to slit my throat and began cutting then just to show he meant business."

Napoleon winced.

"Who was he?"

"Name of Manfred Crow, I haven't heard of him have you?"

Napoleon shook his head.

Illya was about to speak again but stopped abruptly.

"What were you about to say, out with it Illya,"

Ilya looked back at him with troubled dark eyes.

"That's when I saw Emma, she tried to clean it up in fairness."

Napoleon nodded in silence. After a moment he spoke again.

"I've been wrong from the very beginning. I should have known you wouldn't do such a thing. I shouldn't have believed her so readily. It was very wrong of me to act out the way I did. I'm truly sorry Illya."

Illya nodded without meeting his gaze.

"Can we be friends again?" Napoleon asked.

Illya thought for a moment.

"I don't know," he said.

"With all respect Napoleon, this has made me see that I was a little too reliant on you. Well no, not just on you but on any person. We used to go out all the time and do things together. I came to depend on that."

"No man is an Island Illya,"

"Yes but you shouldn't depend on people too much either. Look what happened Napoleon. I had no control over that. That just happened. Before I met you I was happy enough in my apartment playing my guitar and learning new languages."

"You were miserable Illya, you never went out."

"I wasn't miserable. I knew where I stood, at least."

"I'll never let you down again."

"Look you've been a great friend and I'm grateful for all you've done for me."

"I wanted to do it," Napoleon muttered.

"But I want to stay by myself for a while. I've put in for a transfer back to the New York office. I think it's best."

Napoleon stared at him in silence for a good minute. That he didn't expect.

"There's a case in Switzerland Mr Waverly wants me to work on, it's a solo mission."

"You can't work a solo mission are you crazy. You've just been wounded."

"When I recover. It's just an escort job, nothing serious. I need a fresh start Napoleon."

"There's nothing I can say is there?" Napoleon asked.

"You've said it. You've apologised and I'm grateful for that but no, my mind is made up."

Napoleon got to his feet and paced a little in agitation.

"Damn it Illya, I have no control either. People fuck me over too. Women rightly fuck me over. You can't just run away and hope it never happens again. Shit happens Illya, you can't just live out the rest of your life avoiding people in case they let you down."

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"You can't go on a solo mission on your own Illya," he yelled. "And that's an end to it,"

Napoleon stared down at him, his face red with frustration.

"What are you smiling at," he asked eventually.

"I can't go on a solo mission on my own."

Napoleon began to smile too. "No you can't, the clue is in the name."

"Napoleon."

"What."

"Will you get me a hot dog for lunch?"

"With mustard?"

"And the little green things,"

"Anchovies," Napoleon nodded. "Well I'd like to oblige Illya but that is something only a partner can do for you."

"You're a swine," The younger agent grinned.

"A ruthless swine, partners or hospital food, your choice."

"That isn't even a choice, I hate tapioca pudding." Illya had to smile.

"And when you're better Illya I'm going to be putting in a request of my own with Mr Waverly."

"Oh...what's that?"

"We're going to be paying a little curtesy visit with Mr Manfred Crow."

The End.


End file.
